


Living the High Life

by whumphoarder



Series: Christ, What Now? [12]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Airplanes, Anxiety, Fear of Flying, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, Misunderstandings, Nosebleed, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Phobias, Poor Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 02:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21219380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder
Summary: Peter gets a nosebleed while on Tony’s private jet. Chaos abounds.(Alternative title: Too Rich for My Blood)





	Living the High Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awesomesockes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomesockes/gifts).

> Thanks to [sallyidss](https://sallyidss.tumblr.com/) and [xxx-cat-xxx](https://xxx-cat-xxx.tumblr.com/) for beta reading <3

The plane jostles slightly, causing the seatbelt light to flash overhead. Glancing sideways, Tony sees Peter’s eyes widen as the kid grips the armrests of his seat nervously.

“Hey, chill out, alright?” Tony says with a chuckle. “I don’t really want your handprints embedded in my two hundred million dollar jet.”

Peter gapes at him, his nervous expression being replaced by one of disbelief. “Wait, wait, _two hundred million?”_ He releases the armrests and grabs his open bottle of coke from the cupholder so he can quickly screw the cap back on. “And you were letting me drink _soda _on it?!” he demands, horrified.

Tony smirks; he always gets a kick out of seeing the kid experience for the first time the same luxuries that Tony himself has been taking for granted since childhood. Private jets are no exception. 

The two of them are currently flying out to California for the weekend to visit Tony’s recently rebuilt Malibu mansion, as well as to get Peter campus tours of UCLA and CalTech (two of the schools he’s considering applying to during his junior year). Tony’s excited to see the kid’s response to everything from their upcoming hotel accommodations to actual palm trees.

The plane hits a few more bumps of turbulence. His face draining of color, Peter squeezes his eyes shut tightly and leans back in his seat with a tiny moan.

“Wait a minute…” Tony raises an eyebrow, giving Peter an amused look. “Are you telling me that Spider-Man—a guy who swings from literal skyscrapers through the streets of New York on the daily—is scared of heights?”

“Not heights,” Peter grits out, his teeth clenched a bit. “Just flying. Like, in a plane.”

“Flying?” Tony frowns. “But you flew to Germany with no problem.” Or, at least none that he recalls Happy reporting to him. Though, to be fair, they were all a bit distracted that week.

Peter opens his eyes and shrugs. “Well, that time I was kinda more focused on the fact that _ Tony Stark _ pulled me out of school for three days so I could _ steal Captain America’s shield, _ so…” he trails off as they hit another bump and gulps. “Just, you know, Parkers and airplanes have kind of a history...”

Suddenly, it clicks. An instant wave of guilt washes over Tony. Of course the kid would have issues with flying after having his parents die in a plane crash when he was only four years old. Hell, Tony was twenty-one when his own parents were killed and he still prefers to drive himself rather than relinquish control of his vehicles to a chauffeur (with the notable exception of Happy). 

Tony softens his tone before speaking again. “It’s just a little air pocket,” he reassures. “We’ll be through it soon. And worst case scenario, I’ve got suits on board.”

Peter nods tightly a few times. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll be fine.”

Figuring a distraction is in order, Tony starts recounting a particularly memorable MIT party back in the day during which Rhodey got so wasted he danced on the ping pong table to “Heat of the Moment” until it collapsed under him. By the time he’s done, the kid’s nervousness seems to have dissipated and he’s giggling along, the plane ride all but forgotten.

Once they’re through the turbulence, the flight attendant brings out their lunches and Tony once again has to grin at the kid’s awe.

“Honestly, I would have been happy with like, McDonald’s,” Peter babbles, sawing away at his filet mignon piece with a knife and fork, “but this definitely beats that.” He pauses, frowning. “Unless it’s McRib season. McRibs are the bomb, Mr. Stark.”

Tony pulls a face. “I am going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

Peter giggles. Then the plane begins shaking again—a bit harder this time—and the giggles fade, replaced by breaths which are a little too carefully measured to be natural.

_ Alright, back to story time. _ “Hey kid,” Tony begins, “have I ever told you about the time Happy fell backwards into the compound’s swimming pool?”

“Uh, don’t think so…” Peter says, gazing nervously out the window. 

Tony launches right in. “So, Happy was doing his laundry, like he does every Sunday afternoon. I swear, the guy separates every single color until he’s got like, seven loads. Total fanatic about it. Now, you gotta understand DUM-E had been malfunctioning for the past few days, and so—”

“Oh no…” Peter breathes out suddenly. The kid turns back away from the window, his hand clamped over his mouth and nose and an urgent expression on his face. “Oh no, not here, not here...” he mutters, his words muffled by his palm as his eyes dart around the plane.

Figuring he has a pretty good idea of what’s about to occur, Tony immediately bends down to grab a paper airsickness bag from under the seat, but Peter has already unbuckled his seatbelt and is scrambling up from his chair, his hand still clamped over his face.

“No, Peter, you can’t—” Tony calls after him, pointing to the still illuminated seatbelt sign, but the kid is already racing toward the lavatory. Tony quickly unclips his own seatbelt and jumps up to hurry after him. He’s halfway down the aisle before the plane hits another patch of turbulence that causes Tony to stagger into one of the other seats.

From inside the lavatory, he hears a crash followed by a sharp “oof!” Tony winces. Maybe he shouldn’t have insisted the bathrooms on his plane be designed four times as large as the cramped ones on commercial aircrafts—it leaves enough room to actually fall down.

“Peter?” he calls worriedly, knocking on the closed door. “You alright?

“Don’t come in!” Peter’s voice yelps. “I’m fine! I got it handled!”

Tony’s worry deepens. “Kid, you really can’t be out of your seat right now. If you’re getting sick—”

“I’m not!” Peter says quickly. “Really, it’s okay. Uh, I just…” His voice trails off, and then, barely audible, Tony hears him mutter, “Oh god it’s everywhere...”

The plane shakes again and Tony stumbles, pressing a hand to the lavatory door to keep himself upright. But Peter must not have locked it because the door pushes open and Tony half-falls into the bathroom, catching himself one-handedly on the corner of the sink. His hand lands in a few drops of something red and wet.

“What the…?” Tony turns away from the sink, taking in the horrific sight. Blood drops seem to be covering every flat surface of the bathroom—the countertop, the floor, the sink. Peter is sitting on the floor beside the toilet, his light gray t-shirt and blue jeans now stained with crimson splotches as he frantically tears off more pieces of toilet paper to add to the growing bloody wad of tissue he’s pressing to his face. Tony blinks at him. “Are you hurt?”

Peter shakes his head. His voice is nasally when he speaks. “I’m really really sorry.”

Tony blinks again. “This is all from your _ nose?” _

Peter nods, looking absolutely miserable. “I, uh, kinda get bad nosebleeds sometimes? Like usually if it’s too dry, or if I get stressed, or… I dunno, I guess if my nose just feels like it?”

“Well that’s... inconvenient,” Tony remarks. 

The plane jostles and Peter braces his free hand against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. “Is it supposed to be doing that?” he groans.

“It’s just turbulence,” Tony assures. “I’ve flown through a hell of a lot worse, I promise. There was this thunderstorm once when I was flying over Portugal when a bolt of lightning actually—” He’s cut off by a pained whine from the kid. Tony clears his throat. “...But, that’s probably a story for another day.” He makes a vague gesture in front of his own nose. “Is it stopping?”

Peter pulls the tissues back to check. Immediately, a fresh wave of blood runs down from his nostrils, causing Tony to wince though the kid seems unfazed. “It’s slowing down,” he says with a shrug.

Tony huffs out a short laugh. “That’s kind of concerning, but we’ll suspend that for the moment.” Stepping further into the bathroom, Tony moves over to the cabinet to locate a stack of plush white towels. He holds one out to the kid, who throws him a horrified look in return.

“I’ll just get blood all over it,” Peter says worriedly. “Those look really expensive.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s a towel. It can’t be more than, what? Forty? Fifty bucks?”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, that’s even _ worse! _ I was thinking like _ ten!” _

With a deep sigh, Tony chucks the towel directly at the kid’s face. Peter shoots up his free hand to catch it on reflex, leaving bloody fingerprints on the pristine material. He makes a little distressed moan upon realizing. _ “Mr. Stark…” _he whines.

“You’re welcome,” Tony says with a huff. “Now let’s get you back to your seat. Safety first and all that jazz.” As if to emphasize his words, the plane promptly hits another rough patch.

Peter shakes his head, teeth clenched through the jostling. “Can’t. I’m covered in blood. I’ll ruin your two hundred million dollar jet,” he grits out.

“You’re not gonna ruin the _ jet,” _ Tony points out. He pauses for a beat. “Just the jet’s upholstery.”

Peter only moans miserably.

Tony sighs. “Alright, we’ll figure something out.”

**X**

“Whoa, does this seat go all the way flat?!”

Tony chuckles as he adjusts the controls on Peter’s seat to recline it backwards. “Yeah, wonders never cease, kid,” he remarks.

Peter—now wrapped completely in the unrolled emergency parachute from the plane’s cargo area like some kind of nylon burrito—is finally strapped into his chair again. The bleeding has nearly stopped now, though he’s still pinching his nose with tissues to be sure.

Tony pulls a single use ice pack out of the plane’s first aid kit. He squeezes the packet and shakes it to activate the chemicals inside before passing it to Peter. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Peter says. He presses it to the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “And I’m really sorry about all the mess…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tony waves his hand dismissively. “But you are definitely going to need a shower when we land before you even _ think _ about trying out the mansion’s rooftop swimming pool.”

Peter’s eyes widen yet again. “Your _what?!”_

Tony chuckles. This never gets old.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might also like: [Arachnids & Phobias](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16593626)
> 
> Comments are always appreciated <3  
Come and hang out on tumblr if you'd like! My url is [whumphoarder](https://whumphoarder.tumblr.com/)


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